The Correlation Between Shots and Memory Loss
by BrioScotty
Summary: The morning after a party at Puck's.


RATING: There's nudity. And swearing. And lesbians.

**xxxxx  
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Rachel Berry's eyes are welded shut. She gives up on trying to open them and instead tries to stretch out her arms, surprised when her hand comes into contact with bare skin that doesn't belong to her. The owner of the skin moans softly causing Rachel to retract her hand.

She lies perfectly still, listening to the other person's breathing, trying desperately to remember the events of the previous night. There had been a party. At Noah's. She remembers arriving with Finn. They'd fought on the way there and as soon as they'd arrived, he'd stomped off to the keg leaving her standing in the doorway.

Noah had supplied her with wine coolers. And something stronger that she hadn't known the name of. And did they play Spin the Bottle? Rachel's pulse physically races as she remembers soft lips on hers, her eyes closed. Not Finn's lips. Or Noah's.

Was the owner of the lips the same owner of the skin lying not a foot away from her? Still unable to force her eyes open, she reaches out again, brushing the skin under her fingertips, eliciting another moan from the stranger. Instead of drawing away, Rachel runs her hand northward, following the curve of the skin and blushes when she realises that the naked body next to her is female.

"Oh crap," she mutters to herself. The other person stirs, their hand clamping down on top of hers and pulling Rachel over so that her head is now resting on the other person's shoulder. Rachel swallows slowly, feeling the girl's chest rise and fall beneath her.

"Mmm," the person slides their free arm around Rachel's back, tracing the line of Rachel's spine. Rachel shivers and subconsciously presses herself against the mystery person, acutely aware that, despite never considering the possibility of her being into girls, this feels rather nice.

**xxxxx**

Santana Lopez feels the pounding behind her eyes resonating through her head before she even wakes up properly. 'Fucking Puckerman,' she thinks to herself as her stomach flips over. She attempts to roll over and bury her head beneath her pillows but the body covering half of hers prevents her from doing so.

As more of her brain comes to life, she realises that the person is naked. And that she's naked too. And judging by the amount of hair that her left hand is tangled in, that the mystery body belongs to Brittany. Santana smiles to herself and tightens her hold on the girl.

"Mmm," Brittany murmurs, nuzzling into Santana's shoulder causing the Latina to grin widely. She untangles her fingers and runs her hand down the blonde's back, feeling her girlfriend shiver against her.

"Morning sleepy," Santana whispers croakily, eyes still closed as she attempts to place a kiss on the blonde's forehead.

"Morning," a tired voice replies. Not Brittany's voice. In fact it sounds like… Santana's eyes fly open and her jaw drops as she takes in the messy head of brown hair.

"Shit… Berry?" she exclaims, shoving the smaller brunette away. She pushes a lot harder than she intends to and watches the diva tumble to the floor. The other girl lands with a thud and a groan and Santana grimaces, "Streisand, are you still alive?"

"Santana?" Rachel springs to her feet, eyes wide.

"What are you doing in my bed?" Santana asks, pulling a sheet around her body as she climbs out of bed. Rachel grabs a pillow and attempts to cover herself up with it, "And why are you naked? And why the hell aren't you Brittany?"

"This is your bed?" Rachel asks, staring at the Jonas Brothers bed sheets. Santana looks down and frowns.

"Okay, not my bed," Santana corrects, "I don't know whose bed this is." She shakes her head, "It doesn't matter whose bed it is!"

The two stare at each other for a few seconds before Rachel opens her mouth to speak but reconsiders, unable to find anything productive to say and holds the pillow tighter against her body.

"Did we…?" Santana trails off, her eyes sliding closed as the brutal image of her and _Manhands_in bed together assaults her brain, "No, no, no, we can't have. I'd remember. You'd remember, right?"

Rachel stares at Santana and shakes her head briefly.

"I don't remember anything. I vaguely remember someone suggesting playing Spin the Bottle and the rest of the night is a complete blank for me up until five minutes ago when you shoved me on the floor. I'm going to have bruises. I have a ballet recital in three days!"

"Shut up!" Santana says, "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

"I hardly think…"

"Berry, I swear to Chenoweth that you will find yourself thrown out of that window if you don't close your unusually large mouth right now," Santana says sitting down heavily on the end of the bed, "Look, wherever we are…" she looks around again, "I'm assuming we're still at Puck's… it doesn't sound as though anyone else is up."

"You probably just woke them all," Rachel grumbles, readjusting the pillow, her eyes falling on the Santana's back where the sheet has drooped a little too far. Santana huffs and turns to face the blushing brunette.

"We get dressed. We leave. No-one finds out about this. Especially not Brittany," Santana says, her voice cracking slightly on the last word. Rachel nods silently and looks around for her clothes.

"Problem one," Rachel says, "Where are our clothes?" Santana glances around the room and frowns.

"Fuck," she mutters, not spying a piece of the ensemble she'd been wearing last night, rubbing her hand over her forehead as the headache intensifies, "So we make a run for it."

"I am _not_making a _run_for it hidden by a pillow," Rachel says setting her jaw. She refrains from stamping her foot for fear of waking anyone in the room below. Santana rolls her eyes and rips another sheet from the bed and handing it to Rachel. Rachel gestures for the Latina to turn around and quickly fashions herself a toga out of the bed sheet.

"Do you have your car keys?" Santana asks.

"I don't have my skirt, blouse or cardigan, what makes you think I have my car keys, _Lopez_?" Rachel huffs, folding her arms across her chest. Santana narrows her eyes at the pint-sized diva and walks to the door, wrenching it open.

There's a flash and Santana stumbles backwards a couple of steps, momentarily blinded.

"Surprise!" Brittany jumps into the room brandishing a camera, followed by a doubled-over Quinn, laughs escaping from her mouth.

"What the hell?" Santana asks, glancing between Brittany, who quickly takes a snap of Rachel and shows it to the other blonde, and Rachel.

"One for the scrapbook," Quinn snorts, doubling over again. By the time she's regained her composure, both brunettes are standing in similar poses, arms folded across their chests, glares on their faces, "You don't remember a thing, do you?" Neither girl responds. Quinn gestures for them to sit on the bed and scrolls quickly through the photos on Brittany's camera, "This should help." She hands the camera to Rachel after pressing play. The two watch the video in complete silence.

"Shots! We need more shots!" Santana is shouting above the music. Brittany is in control of the camera and it pans the room, focusing on Rachel and Quinn who are entwined on one of the chairs in Puck's lounge, lips locked together. Rachel feels a jolt in her stomach as she glances up at Quinn. Quinn, in return, runs her tongue over her bottom lip and winks at Rachel. Rachel's eyes flick back to the screen where Santana is dragging the reluctant pair towards Brittany.

"Come on, Berry, quit dragging your heels," Santana says, the camera moving to her. She pours four glasses of clear liquid and passes them around. The camera tips back as Brittany downs her shot. Rachel is heard spluttering in the background before Quinn laughs. The camera focuses on the pair again, just in time to see the blonde kiss the smaller brunette, "Jeez, get a room."

The screen goes black and Santana scoffs, looking up at Quinn. "You and Berry?" Quinn's eyes flash as she sneers at Santana.

"Don't you mean, _you_and Berry?" she asks, scrolling through some more photos and handing the camera to Santana.

"I'm right here, you know," Rachel grumbles.

"Sorry, Rach," Quinn says with a grin, winking again. Rachel doesn't even think to question the winks and the nickname and glances down at the camera which Santana is staring at, horror-struck.

"This is fake," Santana says, "You photoshopped this, right?" She throws the camera back at Brittany.

"Yes, Santana," Quinn says patronisingly, "We photoshopped a picture of you and Rachel making out then put it back on the camera." She rolls her eyes, "Lopez, you're gay for Rachel."

"Shut up," Santana says, "This is crazy. I don't remember any of this. You need to start explaining how me and _Man…Rachel…_" she glowers at Quinn, "…ended up in this bed. Naked. Whose bed is this anyway?"

"Puck's sister's," Brittany supplies, "And after you and Rachel passed out, we got Puck and Mike to carry you both upstairs."

"Puck and Mike have seen us naked too?" Rachel squeaks, blushing deep red.

"No, we," Quinn gestures to Brittany, "…were the ones to position you. In the bed." Quinn bites her bottom lip as she tries to stop laughing, "Puck and Mike were sent away long before that."

"So we definitely didn't…?" Santana looks at Rachel before looking up at Brittany. Brittany shakes her head with a grin, "Thank god." Rachel pushes her before turning to face Quinn.

"And I'm assuming that you're the one I had to kiss during Spin the Bottle?" she asks. Quinn nods, "Do you make a habit of taking advantage of sexually-inexperienced, incapacitated girls?"

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time, Rachel," Quinn says, "You're a pretty good kisser, you know."

"And Finn?"

"You… um… you broke up with him," Quinn says, grimacing, "I might have that on video too." She takes the camera from Brittany but Rachel holds up her hand.

"I don't need to see it," she says, "I would like my clothes though." Quinn looks defeated as she exits the room to collect the naked girls' clothes. She tosses Santana's in the direction of the Latina and passes Rachel hers.

"I'm sorry…" she begins but Rachel shakes her head, dropping the sheet and slipping on her skirt and blouse as quickly as her semi-inebriated brain will allow her. She walks out of the room and Quinn sighs, closing her eyes.

"Quinn, are you coming or not?" Rachel's voice echoes up the stairs. Quinn grins and sprints from the room, casting a 'bye guys' over her shoulder. Rachel is standing at the bottom of the stairs, "Can you drive us?"

"Sure," Quinn says, producing Rachel's car keys from the pocket of her jeans, "Where to, madam?"

"Well, my dads are out of town," Rachel says, teeth running over her bottom lip as though she's deep in thought, "And I really need to get the horrific image of me and Santana out of my head. Do you think you can help me with that?"

"I can think of a few ways," Quinn says, grabbing Rachel's hand and leading her out of the house.


End file.
